Nothing is Real
by westpoints
Summary: [complete] 'The truth would set her free, the truth would set her free, the truth...would...set...her...free. It didn't.' Addison during the Baby Drama.


So...this idea's been in my head since I watched the second half of 'Six Days,' and honestly, with me being the Maddison shipper that I am, how could I _possibly _pass up the Baby Drama?

That's right. I couldn't. So enjoy, and remember that I _am_ updating 'One Thousand Words' regularly now, even if this has gotten me off track for a (wonderful) hour or so, and a long time afterwards in editing.

Disclaimer: Please, if this was mine...

* * *

What was she supposed to say?

When you're asked why you aborted your baby, what are you supposed to say?

When you're presented with the best future that you've ever had a chance of getting, when you're staring at the one man who could possibly still love you, what are you supposed to say?

Nothing.

She was supposed to say something that meant absolutely nothing. Her mother had never taught her how to react, how to say the right thing when it's completely wrong, how to say anything, really. She always assumed that her ability to do so had passed on to her band geek daughter.

It hadn't.

So she told the truth, the words burning her throat, words that she didn't mean, not really, but words that were true. The truth would set her free, the truth would set her free, the truth would set...her...free.

It didn't.

He would have made a horrible father. He would have. He didn't keep appointments, he didn't keep commitments, he didn't even remember her birthday. That was a lie. He did remember her birthday, he just didn't see the value of celebrating, and she used to agree with him.

And they were a horrible couple. They cheated. They argued. They argued to the point where they didn't even know what they were arguing about, _that _point, where all that mattered was that fact that they were screaming at each other, they were screaming because he thought he loved her and she thought she loved Derek. And now she didn't love anyone.

It wouldn't have been happy.

But it could have been. For a second, she believed him, for a second, he was there, he was right, they were in the brownstone, ignoring everything badly symbolic about it, and there was Kate and her little brother Eric (no, she had _not_ thought of names for them, she _had not_) and they're both Yankee fans, yelling mildly offensive words at the opposing team in the stadium, and oh god, they're normal. They were normal and happy and it was impossible and she opened her mouth and destroyed it.

She destroyed it.

She destroyed it, not because she needed to, not because she loved him, not because she loved Derek, not because of any sappy "I let my better half go." Well, no, that was also a lie. She destroyed it because she was his better half, and that was what better halves did. Better halves bring their other halves back to reality when everything got too surreal. But halves were surreal, better halves didn't exist, Addison and Mark didn't exist. So she was the better half of nothing, and he was the worse half of no one.

So none of that was real.

There was no baby, there was no brownstone, there was no New York. There was no Mark. There was eternal moisture in the air, and there were too many people on ferry boats, and there was a nice glass of alcohol sitting on the bar, which she'd forgotten the name of. And there was Alex Karev, who reminded her of Mark Sloan, in a less public-asshole way, sitting next to her, drinking a beer.

And that part was real.

So she reached out and touched his face, felt the space where there wasn't any facial hair, no curls, no waves, that was real, the part that wasn't Mark, or Derek, or even her father, whose hair she'd been fascinated with because it grew so long, that was real. The part that was purely Alex Karev, sitting next to her at Joe's Bar, that was real, right now. They were not halves, they were horribly fitted and jammed together in desperation, and that was real.

She kissed him, just to make sure.

And the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, she didn't know what to say. What are you supposed to say when you kiss a guy simply because he is there, he is real, and he is just...there?

What are you supposed to say when you can't examine whether you're avoiding the guy because he's the guy, or because he's not your nonexistent worse half?

Nothing.

You're supposed to say something that means absolutely nothing.

She never learned how to do that, because her mother always assumed that the trait had passed on to her science nerd daughter.

So Addison settled for saying just nothing.

-end-

* * *

Oh, Addison, the eternally disappointed, by her mother and by herself. Actually, I realize that her inability to communicate is counteracted by her reaction to Callie's marriage, but then I think that she had a speech prepared for situations such as these (because she's lovely and neurotic), and not one for Mark, because she's also lovely and twisted and a bit of a coward.

Okay I'm done.

Review!


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